In The End
by Caladhiel Elensul
Summary: After escaping the Sarlacc, Boba Fett decides it's time to preserve a bit of himself in the galaxy and has himself cloned. But one who places no value on life cannot be a father, and while he teaches the boy to be a hunter, he forgets to teach him somethi
1. Waking

_"Sleep, Boba. You've done all you can for one day."_

I don't want to sleep

_The thought and the reply stirred something in the back of his semi-functional mind. The warmth of blankets, the deep, gentle voice… it called him to sleep, to rest, to give in to that comforting darkness._

I don't want to sleep.

_The though echoed back again, this time, bringing him back to awareness. And as it did, the comforting darkness wrapped itself around him, smothering him as surely as if that voice had stretched out a hand and pressed a pillow to his face. He twisted weakly, trying to beat off the heavy blackness around him. He could neither draw, nor release his breath as his mind went numb again. All was lost in panic._

What did I lose?

_Waking again, if only briefly. He was drowning in his own thoughts and fleeting memories, thrashing and struggling to free himself of them as a man thrashes and struggles to free himself of the waves when caught in the undertow. But it does not matter, he is trapped one way or another, doomed to the dark beneath the waves. Every now and then his face broke the surface and he would gulp in the air of reality while he could. But still he fought the same losing battle, still he was dragged down. For every time he took a breath he only prolonged his suffer, and he became weaker with each new attempt at life. Soon, he knew, he would no longer be able to fight death, and he would be able to rest in its warm embrace forever._

What did I lose?

_His head broke the surface of those dark tides again and he gasped for breath while he could. He knew it would not be long before he was pulled back towards death again._

Who am I? Why am I here? What is this?  
_The questions gave him strength enough to fight longer. Nothing came to mind, no answers. And he was dragged in again._

_"Sleep, Boba…"_

Boba… my name…

And suddenly he found a rock within those tides to cling to, to climb upon as the waves tried to reach him. But they couldn't any longer. They had lost their hold on him.

Boba, he thought consciously… Boba Fett. A bounty hunter. The greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy…I am Boba Fett. I am Boba Fett!

_With each realization, with each fragment of his identity that came slipping back, his strength grew. The suffocation continued, but his mind worked faster than his body as he rapidly began to regain his very identity. Names, places, people… all of them came back in a flood._

Battle… there was a fight. Sun, and sand… it was a desert?

_The waves reached for him._

Jabba the Hutt… an employer? Han Solo… a bounty? Merchandise, do they say?

_The cold water splashed around his ankles._

Skywalker! The Jedi! It was under attack. His merchandise, Han Solo, escaping his employer. And he had been struck by him.

Vaguely he recalled slamming into a wall of metal and tumbling down to the sand below, into… into…

_He stumbled and fell, feet slipping against the wet stone._

The Pit of Carkoon! The nest of the Sarlaac, in all its foul glory. He remembered tumbling into that gaping, beaked mouth, razor sharp teeth tearing rents in the places where armor did not cover his body.

But, he thought, if I was swallowed… then that means…

Suddenly he became aware of the sting of acid against his body, the dampness around him, the lack of air. And then he knew: he was literally in the belly of the beast.

Escape was the first thought that came to mind. He refused to die in such a pathetic, helpless way! His lungs tightening, he felt for his weapons.

His arm was stiff, and refused to move far. On his belt, beneath his stinging fingers was the feel of a melted lump of metal, and then another one. Nothing. Nothing useful, anyway.

_I can't die, he thought, the tides dragging him down again. I can't die, I can't die… not here, not now…_

And as he thought it, his fist clenched. His flesh stinging dully as his lungs screamed for oxygen, his subconscious noticed it was a handle.

Unaware of his own actions, instinct all that he had left of his rationality, he pulled on the handle with his little remaining strength.

The jet pack sputtered, dented and damaged from where Solo had hit it. But finally it flickered to life, igniting and shoving him against the walls of the beast's stomach with tremendous force…

…Outside, the Sarlacc raised its head, screeching in terrible pain. As its innards were melted and liquefied by the fire and the leaking of its own stomach acid, it retched terribly, its entire long, writhing body shuddering. It retched, mouth spewing forth a stream of blood and half-liquefied flesh. Before it could draw breath, it retched again, bits of metal and half-digested corpses spattering over the sandy ground with the blood and gore. One final, bloody tide washed over the sand, one final, piercing scream… and then all was still.

Of all the half-digested corpses to be spewed onto the ground, one of them moved. He himself retching, the man who now knew himself to be Boba Fett knew also fear. His instincts told him to get as far away from that pit as possible.

Feebly he began to crawl. One of his legs felt dead, and dragged uselessly on the ground. He dropped the jetpack, knowing it would only be a burden to him as he struggled on, barely able to carry his own weight. His arms, the cloth on them nothing but soggy rags, the skin raw and bleeding, were in agony as they were ground into the sand in an effort to pull himself forward. He felt sick, dizzy, and numb all over.

Feebly, hand trembling, he reached up a hand and pulled the helmet off of his head, vomiting as his throat became accustomed to drawing breath once more. His body shook violently, the cold of the Tatooine night only supplementing this, as he keeled over to one side, lying on his back in the sand.

He gasped for breath, chest rising and falling heavily. His whole body hurt in a way he had never imagined. The suction cups in the creature's gut had been ripped off, leaving round, bleeding marks where they had once been. The rents in his flesh where the teeth had scraped him had been eaten at and horribly disfigured by the acid of the thing's gut, and it stayed there still, eating his body away. The acid was everywhere: in his wounds, his clothes, the creases of his skin. Bitter, burning gorge lingered in his throat as he lay there on the desert sand. And then he began to hate himself. Not for nearly being eaten, and not for being helpless.

_I was afraid, _he thought darkly. _Better to die than to fear death._

With great effort he slid the helmet back over his head, becoming the bounty hunter once more and leaving his weakness behind. A few forced vocal commands, and soon there was a dull roar overhead. It grew as a glowing light blurred his vision. It then dimmed, there was a hiss, and he opened his eyes to see the familiar form of his ship, _Slave I _before him.

Instinct returned to him again, for _Slave I _was his refuge, his place of safety. Staggering to his feet and stumbling forward, he toppled into the ship and collapsed to the floor as the hatch closed behind him.

A few more vocal commands to the ship and he tossed the helmet off, dragging himself with a cry out of the cargo hold. He tossed bits of armor and tore the frail cloth from his stinging body as he crawled, lurched, staggered, and dragged himself to the living quarters of _Slave I._

As the ship lifted into orbit, the movement made his one good leg give out beneath him as he collapsed yet again, opening the door to the small bathing room. Turning on the water in the 'fresher and setting it to a bearable lukewarm, he lay there and let the comfortable spray wash over him, slowly watering down the acid in his flesh and dribbling it away.

He lay there, unmoving, eyes closed as his chest heaved. He regained his breath slowly as he lay on the hard floor, the cool water rinsing his half-naked, rag-clad body. The tattered shreds of his clothing, ruined by the acid, still clung to his wounds in some places. But he didn't care. All he could think of now was one thing.

_That was… too close, _he decided silently. Then he allowed himself to sleep, right there on the floor with the water washing his wounds, with the satisfactory knowledge that he would wake from whatever dreams he might have.


	2. Return to Kamino

When Boba Fett stepped from _Slave I_, it was into a blinding, torrential rain that pounded mercilessly against his armor, leaking into wounds recently healed. Still, he worked half by logic, half by memory as he worked away from the blinding gray void that was the outside, towards the vague white light before him which proved to be a door.

It slid open, revealing a stark, white hallway illuminated by white light. To many it would seem like an asylum. But to him, it was a memory of what was once home.

A creature emerged from the hallways, with eyes like stars: silvery, surrounded by black. Its head was smallish, with slit-like nostrils and an almost lipless mouth. Its skin was a pale silver-white, and appeared to wear a head ornament of some sort that dangled to one side. Its neck was long and slender, wrapped with a pale blue strip of cloth. Its clothing was the same sort of pale blue and white color scheme that seemed to occur all around this place. Long, graceful legs were apparent beneath the skirt, and elongated arms ended in two-fingered, one-thumbed hands. It spoke, its voice feminine.

"Pardon me, sir," she said politely, "but I do not believe you had an appointment here. May I ask, what is your business?"

Boba Fett began to speak but, for once, was rendered speechless. His eyes began to burn as the words caught in his throat. Tears were beyond him, but if he was still capable of such emotions, he would have let them come.

She smiled at him politely, expectantly.

"Taun We?" he asked finally, getting control of his own voice again.

"Yes…," she said, her smile faltering slightly.

"Don't you recognize me?" he demanded incredulously.

She seemed puzzled, head drawing back curiously. "I am afraid I do not. Should I?"

"It's me!" he said, trying not to raise his voice. "I'm Boba! Boba Fett, remember?"

She tilted her head and part of her neck, unsure. "Boba?"

Desperate, and knowing that she could call the city guards any moment, he yanked off his helmet, revealing his scarred, but yet recognizable face.

"I am Boba Fett," he said, his face expressionless. "Jango Fett's son. You remember him… don't you?"

"Yes, of course!" she said, smiling slightly. "But I could hardly be expected to recognize you beneath that armor. My, how you've grown since I last saw you! It would seem you were no defect: you are the very image of your father."

"I should hope so," he said sharply. "The skill of the Kaminoan cloners is unrivaled… and that is why I have come here."

"Oh?" she tilted her head again. "Understand, our fees still stand, regardless of old connections."

"I assure you," he said in his usual, emotionless tone, "I have more than enough in the way of credits to cover your fees."

She nodded. "Then I will make an appointment for you to see Lama Su. What sort of order will this be?"

Boba Fett always knew there had to be a reason why his father had liked the Kaminoans. And now he understood: they were business people. No matter what, their work came before all else, and nothing stood in the way of it. They were like the Hutts in that, but they were neither fat nor foolish. The Kaminoans would not put a bounty on your head. They would kill you themselves. And they trusted no one save themselves.

He did not know what he had expected when he returned to Kamino. Perhaps he had expected to feel… some connection, some old love, some feeling of comfort. But instead there was nothing. Seeing Taun We had done nothing but strike weakness in him, and returning to the world where he was born had done nothing.

Created, he decided, was a better word. He had often mused since his earliest days what it would have been like to be a real child, to have two parents: a mother and a father, not a caretaker and a predecessor. In his teen years, he had often found himself embittered by the fact that he was a clone. He knew it had been a logical move on the part of his father, but at the same time, it had irritated him. Even now he wondered why he had been created in the first place. But then, he reminded himself, what was the point of living? Better, he decided, not to question a good thing. And yet he had heard the stories told, and would have much preferred if the one about him being a renegade soldier were true.

"Nothing that can compare with that of the Jedi Syfo-Dias," he said coolly. "I need just one clone… a very special clone, for which I am willing to pay as much as you ask."

"I see," she said with a nod. "What sort of clone?"

"One of myself," he said, expression grim. "No tampering, no meddling, no growth stims. A pure genetic replica."

"I will see that Lama Su hears your request," she said with a small smile. "The Fetts have always been good with our business in the past. I don't see why he would decline."

"You will find I have ways of persuading people," he said simply.

She paused for a moment. "Well, your apartment was never cleaned out," she said calmly. "If you have no objections, it would be easiest for us if you would reside there until you may speak with Lama Su. Unless of course you would prefer something else?"

"It will be fine," he said shortly. "I remember the way."

Before she could answer, Boba Fett turned and began the walk to the apartment complex nearby. He remembered every step. Down this hall, the right turn, into this elevator…

And as he walked toward what had served as his house, he passed it.

He was forced to stop and stare dully at the huge cloning facility of Kamino. Before him, through a glass window was a seemingly endless room. Above his head, in jars of pale blue liquid were fetuses, curled and seemingly inhuman as they hovered, suspended as they grew. The racks of these seemed to stretch on for miles as he walked, staring.

In the next room sat rows upon rows of young children, all with the same features. Their skin was golden-brown, their eyes brown, their hair jet black and cut short. They all wore the same clothes, and bore the same headsets as they worked away at their computers, learning goodness knew what. Boba Fett had learned from holovids and the like. These… copies learned from programs.

And the last room was perhaps the one that brought him closest to fear. It was not so much afraid he felt as unnerved as he gazed below him… and saw himself.

Table upon table was filled with red-clad soldiers, each bearing the same face as he did. Each one went about his business, eating or talking without noticing him above. They all looked alike, and, though he could not hear them, he knew they sounded alike… and the same as him. They were a clone army, he thought. They were Imperial Stormtroopers.

"So Lord Vader kept them coming," he muttered, staring at the ghastly scene below.

As he watched one table, a clone gave him an odd look. He then shook one of his companions' shoulder violently, pointing upward. A small crowd of them looked up, staring agape at the scarred, battle-worn version of themselves who stood above them, battered, careworn Mandalorian armor a splash of color against a bleak white background.

Boba Fett turned, walking down the hall without paying them any heed. They were all inferior.

Finally he reached the apartment. He punched in the combination as he remembered it, and entered.

The first thing he knew was darkness. His gloved hand searched the wall for a light switch. Finally it found purchase, and he was faced with a memory.

Everything was as he had left it, that night that he and his father had fled Kamino together, escaping the damnably persistent Jedi who called himself Obi-Wan Kenobi. In the rush to gather what was important to them, much had been scattered carelessly. Clothes lay here, discarded for their rare use, various toys there, possessions of his when he had been young. The mess, all the lavishly expensive things remained, it had all endured the years here.

Suddenly something cracked beneath his foot as he walked in. He paused and looked down.

It was a small figure, a war droid of the Trade Federation. It was not damaged, merely snapped from its black, circular base. He bent and picked it up, staring at it with dim recognition. The markings on it indicated a more advanced model. Consequently, he recalled, it had always been the one that his Mandalorian toy had faced off against in an epic battle.

He tossed it aside carelessly. That had been years ago. He was no longer a boy.

And yet he had to admit to himself that he was tired. Perhaps, he thought, it was because he was still healing. Or perhaps it was the mental stress. Whatever the case, he decided, he needed sleep.

He stepped into the room nearest the living room, in a door to the left. The lights had come on in there as well, making it almost more visible than he would have liked.

This, he remembered, had been his father's room. It was fairly untouched by the chaos that had ensued after the Jedi's departure. The drawers were slightly open, the closet door ajar, the blankets rumpled and unmade. But beyond that, there was very little evidence of anything being wrong. It was as if the room had been a part of his father, for nothing ever deterred him. He might be irritated by a change in plans, a hindrance to his ideas, but never stopped. He had done everything with a calm, almost ruthless efficiency.

He dug into one of the drawers, pulling out a set of sleep clothes. Without fearing intruders, he shed his soaked armor and clothes and put on the soft, warm shirt and pants. His limbs, he noted, felt heavier than normal, and his eyes dry. Yes, he decided, sleep was exactly what he needed… tomorrow he would see Lama Su about the clone issue. For the next time he came so close to death, he wanted the satisfaction of knowing that some part of him would live on.

And there it is! But let's see how our bounty hunter fares on four hours of sleep with a screaming baby. Next chapter: Boba gets his clone, which turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Chryseis Fett: Why thank you! Like I said, much as I love Dengar and Manaroo, I was forced to omit them. But I'm glad you liked it nonetheless. Hope you enjoy chapter two as much.

Infamous One: Well I'm glad you enjoyed this chapter, because it won't be a 'ficlet' for long. Your comments are very much appreciated, however

Anargil: Boba Fett NOT escape from the Sarlacc? He doesn't die! In fact, I've got a book on the subject that I'll lend you sometime… so call me! Lol. But yes, there will be MUCH more to this story. After all, can you honestly picture Boba Fett raising a child with tender love and care? I think not. Thanks for taking the time to review


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